


Old Favors

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Movie 1952)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Infidelity, M/M, Madeleine Era, Reunions, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Javert isn't the only ghost from the past coming to haunt Valjean in Morvin...





	Old Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss M (missm)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/gifts).



“You won’t forget me, Jean, will you?”

Silently, Valjean shook his head. How could he forget the man who had become his teacher, his brother, his father—the only thing that had made this hell bearable? Even now, the thought of losing Genflou made him fear the freedom that awaited him—but oh, to walk without chains, to go where he pleased, to be free!

“Write to me, Jean.” Genflou’s eyes were bright, his hands reaching out for Jean’s. “Promise me you will. Another six years and I might find you—or who knows, perhaps it will be even earlier.”

His heart pounding in his chest, Valjean allowed himself to be pulled close.

“Be careful,” Valjean said, his voice trembling. “I could not bear it to hear news of you…”

He broke off, swallowing back sudden tears. This man had been everything to him for the past ten years. How come he had never realized that losing his chains would also mean losing this particular chain binding them together?

“I will write,” Valjean quickly promised. “You know I will. And you must promise you’ll come and find me. Six years… I might have a home in six years. A home, a fire, work, food… And all I have will be yours as well. We will share as we always have.”

“You don’t need to promise that,” Genflou said, his rough hand gentle against Valjean’s cheek.

“I do. I will!” Valjean exclaimed, breathless with yearning for and terror of that freedom to come as he stared into Genflou’s dark eyes. “Promise you will find me. Promise.”

“Then I’ll promise, Jean” Genflou said easily, his arm curving around Valjean’s waist. He held him close while Valjean’s heart raced like it had not in a long time, until at last a guard came with his cudgel to break them up and cut Valjean’s chain.

***

In the town of Morvin, Valjean at last found a home. The freedom that had seemed so terrifying when he had been chained suited him well, he found. It was a mantle easier to wear than chains, in any case. And as he quietly worked to ever increase the quality of the pots and plates he produced, the long years of darkness quickly receded, until the swaying motion of the galley and the calluses of the oars on his hands seemed no more than a half-faded nightmare.

Once, at the beginning, he had written to Genflou. It was an action he had come to severely regret when several years later, Javert arrived in the small town. Javert, who ever regarded him with suspicion, would take even the slightest hint of a connection to the galleys as proof of who Valjean truly was.

Nevertheless, despite Valjean’s fears, the disguise of Madeleine held. No answering correspondence from his past arrived during the year when Javert kept watching him with the grim tenacity of a hellhound.

It was not until a night in October, fall having arrived with a sudden blustering wind that forced cold air to come howling in through every window, that there was a sudden knock on Valjean’s door.

Valjean started. The house had been quiet for hours, Robert having retired long since to his own home to rise early on the morrow, while Valjean had sat until late over the paperwork that came with the distinction of the mayoral title.

The knock had come from the small door that led out into his garden. Who could it be? Robert would not knock, for he had a key to Valjean’s home.

Had he lost his key? It was not so uncommon for him to spend the night, and perhaps, if he intended to remain after all and gently lead Valjean to bed, he might indeed choose to come through the back door, safely away from all curious eyes…

Warmth spread through Valjean’s limbs as he swiftly rose and moved towards the door. There was a smile on his face as he opened it—but that smile vanished as quickly as the sudden flash of lightning illuminating the familiar face of the man standing before him, his hair wind-blown and his eyes dark.

“Well? Won’t you bid me inside on such a night, Jean?” Genflou said. Another flash of lightning rent the sky.

In the stark illumination, Valjean found his heart pounding once more with the remembered ecstasy of Genflou’s mouth on his.

Silently, Valjean stepped back. As soon as Genflou had entered, he proceeded to quickly shut and lock the door, then hastened to draw all of the curtains. All this time, Genflou watched him with a faint smile on his lips.

“Well? Have you nothing to say to me?” Genflou finally inquired.

His heart still racing, the crashes of thunder outside giving him a jolt every time, Valjean at last allowed himself to move closer.

“It’s truly you,” he said in wonder, raising trembling fingers to Genflou’s cheek.

At the touch, memories came flooding back in: the rolling of waves, the planks upon which they slept, cruel steel chaining him to the oars—and Genflou’s teachings, the heat of his body the only thing that kept him from despair in those days.

“You did not write as you promised,” Genflou said, “no, not more than one single letter in all those years.”

Valjean stared at him, his mouth dry. He thought of the way Robert’s smile lit up his face, the way he had come to depend on his strength, the easy camaraderie Robert had always offered along with his embrace.

To have Genflou, here, in this house that had become a home—but a home for him and Robert…

“You cannot stay,” Valjean whispered, his eyes going to the window before they returned to Genflou. “Javert is here, in this very town! He hasn’t recognized me so far—but if he saw us together!”

Genflou’s lips twisted, his smile wry. “I see how it is, Jean,” he said. “Yes, don’t protest, I see very well how it is. I saw you this afternoon. I saw your friend. You don’t need to apologize, Jean. Of course you prefer an honest potter to the company of a convict.”

Helpless, Valjean looked from Genflou towards the window again. “You mustn’t think that,” he said weakly.

“I understand, truly I do,” Genflou said. “It’s just… All those long years chained in the belly of a galley. At night, when I was sore and exhausted, I would lie awake and think of what you said. _I promise,_ you said. A home, food, a fire—and your company.”

“Everything I have is also yours.” Valjean could not tear hear his eyes from the familiar shape of Genflou’s face.

He thought of the hours spent listening to Genflou’s teachings about the bagne, the advice that had kept him alive all those years. It was the gift of literacy, which Genflou had given him, that had set him onto this way towards the light which had ended here, in this happiness he had found with Robert’s support.

Was that not selfish of him? Did he not owe Genflou everything?

“I can give you money,” he said fervently. “You cannot stay, not with Javert—he would have you back in chains by the morrow! But I can give you money enough that you can find a free life elsewhere—”

Genflou watched him quietly. “I won’t say no to that. You know I would be a fool not to accept your help. But that is not what I came for. You know that. You know that, Jean.”

Valjean felt strangely helpless as he looked at Genflou, all of his strength having left him. And had he not felt just like this when he had arrived at the galleys of Marseilles? He had been terrified and desperate until Genflou’s hand reached out for him, the calm certainty of this man the only anchor in a storm that had threatened to overwhelm him.

He remembered even now that first moment when Genflou’s calloused fingers had curled around his own. He remembered too that first smile Genflou had given him, a corner of his mouth rising, his dark eyes alight with the shrewd intellect that had enabled him to survive those long years.

And he remembered the way he had rested against Genflou at night, weary to his soul, those rough hands comforting in a way that had made him breathless.

“I know that,” Valjean now repeated with that same old breathlessness, his heart racing in his chest as he took a final step forward.

Genflou did not reach out for him, as he had back then—but even so, trembling with remembered emotion, Valjean found himself leaning forward until their lips touched at last. Now, finally, Genflou’s arms came around him, and Valjean buried his fingers in Genflou’s hair.

It was just as he had remembered. So many long years had passed—but at that moment, with Genflou warm and certain in his arms, it was as if he had never left. Genflou’s hair was still soft between his fingers, and his body was still strong. There was still some hint of the sea to his scent, a faint trace of salt and sweat.

Valjean’s hands were trembling, his body overwhelmed by a sudden weakness. How could he have forgotten this? Had not Genflou been good to him in the bagne? How would he have survived without him? And to think that he had been so ungrateful as to never write, to try and forget him, when Genflou was at that time still living the misery Valjean had escaped?

“There, Jean, that is better,” Genflou murmured when their lips parted. “That is the Jean I remember.”

“Stay,” Valjean said, breathless and overwhelmed, trailing his fingers down Genflou’s cheek.

With a small smile, Genflou tilted his head. “How could I, Jean? I can see very well what has happened. Your potter has taken my place in your heart.”

“No,” Valjean protested faintly, even though he knew it was a lie.

“But the storm is raging, and the rain is terrible,” Genflou then continued, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll gladly take shelter for a night with you. I’ll be off in the morning. Neither Javert nor your potter will see me.”

“His name is Robert,” Valjean said weakly, although he offered no resistance when Genflou pushed him towards the open door to his bedroom.

“And I’m sure he is very good to you,” Genflou murmured, pressing Valjean against the doorframe.

Valjean gasped, staring down into Genflou’s dark eyes. It was impossible to think—all he could see right now were the moments when Genflou had saved him, the hours Genflou had painstakingly taught him to read, the moment when Genflou had forced him to save another man’s life when Valjean had become little more than a beast himself.

“You were very good to me,” Valjean murmured, unable to offer any resistance. Genflou’s eyes were as dark and unreadable as they had been back then, and the weight of his debt to this man who had saved him seemed nearly unbearable.

“You can be good to me now, Jean.” Genflou smiled, pushing even closer. “That’s not so much to ask, is it?”

Valjean’s lips parted as he automatically shook his head in assent.

Then a boom of thunder made the windows rattle once more, a flash illuminating the night—and at that exact moment, another knock on the door resounded.

Valjean froze, fear clenching around his heart once more. With Genflou here in his house, past midnight, and with a storm raging outside—who would come to call at this time?

“Quick! You have to hide!” he whispered, his eyes frantically searching for a hiding place, going from his desk to the sofa to the door leading into the garden.

Had the storm torn off a roof or uprooted a tree? Surely it was some emergency that made a neighbor call on the mayor—there was no reason for Robert to return at this time—and then, Robert would not knock when he had a key!

Again a flash illuminated the room for a heartbeat, an echoing boom of thunder following right behind. And in the silence that followed, another knock came, this time loud and insistent.

Genflou dove into his bedroom, flashing Valjean another quick smile. “Get rid of them,” he mouthed. “I’ll wait for you.”

“No—” Valjean began, but even as he watched, Genflou slipped beneath the blankets on his bed, drawing them over his body until he was completely hidden from view. Valjean’s heart was still beating painfully hard in his chest, every beat making him tremble.

There was no reason anyone would enter his bedroom this night. Any emergency that required the attention of the mayor could be dealt with quickly—if the bridge had washed away or a shed had fallen over, he would go out into the storm and see that the matter was dealt with. There was no reason for anyone to come into his bedroom at night—

“Monsieur le maire!” a man called out outside his door now, the voice deep and grimly determined. “Please open the door.”

Valjean's heart skipped a beat, terror making him pale even as he mechanically went toward the door. It was a voice he knew well. It was the voice of Javert, who had known both him and Genflou in the galleys.

His fingers shook as he took hold of the door handle. He took a deep breath. Then he opened the door, determined to send Javert off straight away—but as soon as the door was open, Javert pushed his way inside. He was panting with exertion, his eyes bright with some fierce, terrifying emotion.

“At last,” Javert said breathlessly, his lips twisting into a smug grin. “There’s a criminal on the loose. I saw him heading towards your garden, monsieur; it is a dangerous man, a convict. A man who escaped the galleys.”

Valjean barely managed to suppress a flinch, staring at Javert, not daring to breathe as he met his eyes. “I have sat in my study for the past few hours, working,” he said. “No one has come by this way. He must have escaped you.”

“Have you,” Javert murmured, making his way past Valjean into his study. “All alone?”

Abruptly, he twisted around to fix Valjean with another stare. Valjean felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

“Is not Monsieur Robert in the habit of dining with you?”

“He helps me with the pottery’s paperwork,” Valjean corrected quietly. “He retired home hours ago.”

“Aha!” Javert said triumphantly. “Then whoever moved towards your garden was not he. I think you are in danger tonight, monsieur. Of course, you would not know the danger such men pose—no, a man like you would know nothing of these men, who are like beasts, uncouth, ruled by brutal passions, entirely capable of smashing in your bedroom window at night and strangling you in your sleep while you lie helpless beneath such a brute, unable to draw in a breath to cry out for help as those cruel hands do their wicked deed…”

Javert broke off, still panting, his chest rising and falling as he stared towards Valjean's bedroom.

“But then, of course,” he added quietly, “such a beast would not overwhelm a man like you, monsieur le maire. A man who stopped a runaway carriage with his bare hands. Is that not true?”

Valjean trembled. He moistened his lips with his tongue before he could make himself speak. “I’m quite safe, Javert,” he said at last, “with loyal men such as you to guard our town.”

“It is my duty,” Javert murmured. “A duty I take seriously.”

He was still staring at Valjean, his eyes alight with a terrible excitement. Valjean could not make himself move. Surely any moment now, Javert would give voice to the truth—if he had recognized Genflou out in the garden, then would he not also recognize Valjean…?

“And I am grateful for your support,” Valjean said mechanically.

“Are you,” Javert said.

Then another flash of lightning lit the room—and in the split second of stark light, Valjean felt his blood curdle in his veins when he saw that there was a trail of wet footprints leading from the garden door into his study.

Javert was still staring at him. Had taken Javert note of the footprints earlier when he had entered the room? Valjean could not breathe, standing frozen as Javert’s eyes continued to rest on him with a heavy awareness.

“What was that?” Javert said all of a sudden.

The room was silent. There was no sound but that of the wind and the rain outside.

“I heard nothing.”

“There was a sound. And it was coming from your bedroom,” Javert said, and then simply pushed Valjean out of the way.

Terrified, Valjean did not dare to resist, even though he protested, “You are mistaken! It was coming from the outside. Perhaps your convict is in the garden even now—”

“He must have made his way inside by the window even as we talked,” Javert said, his eyes gleaming. “Stand aside.”

He hurried forward—but before he reached the room, Valjean made his way past him, his heart beating in his throat as he blocked the doorway, arms spread wide.

“Why, what is this?” Javert said with mocking astonishment. “Monsieur le maire, surely you will not keep me from doing my work?”

Valjean felt cold sweat run down his chest as he met Javert’s eyes, remembering moments when he had stood spread out just like this, his arms chained to the wall, the lash coming down again and again onto his back.

Javert’s smile widened, his eyes lit by a terrible heat. Did he remember the same?

“I cannot let you enter,” Valjean said, his mouth dry.

“Oh? And why is that?”

Valjean trembled. “Monsieur Robert did not retire to his home tonight. With the storm raging like this, I could not send him back out.”

“So you offered him your own bedroom?” Javert said, his grin widening.

Valjean swallowed as he stared at Javert’s bared teeth.

“It is the right thing to do in a storm like this,” he said, feeling the heat rise to his face at the blatant lie, for Javert knew as well as he did that Robert lived in the house next to his own.

“Of course,” Javert said, his head tilting back in triumph as he laughed voicelessly.

Let Javert have that satisfaction. Surely Javert had long suspected that Robert was more to him than just his right hand in the factory—but let Javert think whatever he liked. The town that had chosen him as their mayor would not believe in any tales Javert thought to tell. And better Javert believed him unnaturally attached to Robert than believing him to be an ex-con.

“So you see we will both be quite safe tonight,” Valjean continued in desperation. “Although, if you truly have seen a suspicious person enter the city, I don’t want to keep you from your search—even now, that man might be out there, hiding in the streets to rob a house.”

Again Javert took a step closer, so that Valjean shivered at the sensation of Javert’s hot breath on his face.

“I assure you,” Javert murmured triumphantly, “I will keep this city safe from galley-slaves and convicts. I know that sort of person intimately well, as you know. Once, I served as a guard in the galleys of Marseilles. Never fear, monsieur le maire, I know a convict when I see him. There are some habits such a man cannot shake.”

“And I am very glad for all you do for this town,” Valjean said. He could feel a drop of sweat trail down his skin. “Have a good day, Javert.”

Javert inclined his head, his lips still parted in a voiceless laugh. “Good night, monsieur le maire. Please give my regards to monsieur Robert.”

Valjean felt the heat on his face increasing, but even so he managed to meet Javert’s eyes as he gave him a small nod.

Then, a heartbeat later, the spell was broken as Javert finally turned and left. With the sound of the door being shut behind him, all composure left Valjean as he crumpled against the wall.

To think of Javert, that fierce bulldog, here in his house with Genflou in his bedroom…

He pushed a hand into his hair and found the locks wet with sweat. But he could not relax yet. He was still in danger—both of them were. The lights in Robert’s house were off; he had long since retired to bed. Still, if Javert found some reason to knock at Robert’s door as well…

His hands were trembling as he hastily opened the drawer of his desk. There was a hidden compartment; from it, he now withdrew a bundle of banknotes. He pushed it into an envelope, then wrapped it tightly in waxed cloth to keep it safe from the rain.

“To hear Javert call you _monsieur le maire_ ,” Genflou said, strolling back into the room as though nothing had happened.

Even now, the familiar smile on his lips made Valjean’s knees weaken, a breathless need threatening to overwhelm him as he thought of the many long nights when he had been at the mercy of that wicked mouth and those calloused hands, which knew how to draw ecstasy even from the misery to which they had been confined.

“You have to leave. Quickly!” Valjean pushed the package against Genflou’s chest. “He could return at any moment.”

“But I’ve only just found you again, Jean. Do you truly want me to leave without a proper welcome?” Genflou pressed close, just as Javert had earlier, although the heat of his body was infinitely more welcome and made all reason flee from Valjean’s mind.

“I told you, I cannot—” Valjean said weakly.

“Oh, I remember. Your potter.” Genflou’s eyes laughing as he leaned in. “Then don’t, Jean. Keep your virtue. After all, none of this is your fault.”

Quick as a snake, he leaned forward, his mouth pressing to Valjean’s as his arms shot out and trapped him against the wall.

The sound that escaped Valjean was half despair, half overwhelmed delight, his body remembering the pleasure that had once come from Genflou’s teaching. With the wall hard against his back, Genflou’s wiry body hot against his chest, he surrendered, his lips parting even as his own arm wrapped around Genflou’s back to hold him close.

“Well. You have something for me, Jean?” Genflou asked when he drew back. He took hold of the package from Valjean’s unresisting fingers.

Misery and yearning mingled within Valjean as he stared at the face that had once been more familiar than that of his own mother. He did not speak. He watched as Genflou unwrapped the envelope, then looked at the banknotes within.

“A very generous gift, Jean,” Genflou said calmly. “I will leave now, and I’ll make certain that Javert does not see me. But if you will accept some advice from me, do not leave the house tonight. That Javert is like a bloodhound. He knows that something is amiss. You should have him sent away from this town.”

“How can I?” Valjean said in agitation. “If I tried, certainly he would know.”

Again he raised a hand to his head, then, hesitantly, touched his own lips, which were still tingling from the kiss.

Inexplicably, he found himself flushing once more as Genflou watched him from knowing eyes.

“Perhaps he has what he wants now,” Genflou murmured, still watching him attentively. “Yes; perhaps you have given him what he has always wanted. Take care, Jean; that one will always be dangerous. Now, perhaps more than before.”

“He cannot arrest me for whatever he might think he knows about the company I keep,” Valjean protested.

How would he explain the events of the night to Robert? He had not dared to think about that when he talked to Javert. But then, Robert had never asked questions before. He did not deserve Robert’s kindness.

“No, though I rather think Javert would if he could.” Genflou’s lips lifted again, the smile as sharp as that of a cat as he eyed Valjean. “Still, have a care. That one won’t stop until he has you. And today… today he got to taste blood.”

“I will be careful, Genflou.” Then, nearly overwhelmed by misery when he thought of his friend leaving, Valjean added, “But must you go? Could you not stay in a town nearby?”

“I must go, Jean,” Genflou said, calmly stowing away the package. “You know I must. I will not ask you to write again. But I have a feeling that one day, we shall meet again. And then, perhaps, it will be my turn to return a favor..."


End file.
